


Firelight

by iavenjqasdf



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Adventure, Banter, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Hanging out and bantering and kissing, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, OT3, Open Relationships, Other, PTSD, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Road Trips, Slice of Life, also my first real chaptered fic, idk man, just guys bein' dudes, kind of an, later but also not really?, more of a 2 + temporary 1?, performer trio on the road, relationships are hard, said violence is mostly just alluded to, sorta; see the end notes, with many shenanigans to come
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-09-02
Packaged: 2018-09-25 16:29:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9829565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iavenjqasdf/pseuds/iavenjqasdf
Summary: I've been along the road / Now the road is easy / Cause I no longer travel on my own





	1. Far-Fetched Ideas and Farewells

**Author's Note:**

> re: the summary; a lyric from a song I like that finally pushed me over the edge into writing this  
> the title: what I called the draft back when I started and immediately abandoned it almost 2 years ago  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5pQI-_ss9ss
> 
> Anyway it's been a long time coming but it finally came, hope you enjoy my fic even tho I don't have the game

Brady looked over the note for the umpteenth time, eyes anxiously darting between the packing list and the supplies he’d gathered into a neat pile. His violin, a couple of staves, spare clothing, poetry books, a pair of dancer’s shoes, a bag of cosmetics; everything seemed to be in place at last. He let himself release a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, folding the crumpled list into his pocket as he looked over their possessions.

It had started as a joke, half-formed at the edge of slumber one night as the trio lay scattered around Owain’s tent after an evening of merriment. He wasn’t even sure who’d been the one to propose it. Yet, the idea stuck with Brady, refusing to dislodge itself no matter how much he hissed at himself that it was stupid, impractical, irresponsible.

He’d started drawing up plans just to humor himself, and found the thought looking less and less outlandish and more like a real possibility. The funds were in place, and any extra they needed, they could earn playing or working odd jobs along their way. Besides, they’d all expressed a wish to travel the lands once things had settled down, and what better time than now, invigorated from saving the world, in good health and greater spirits? They had their youth. They had each other. This could work.

He decided to break the idea to Owain first; he could scarcely plan something like this without the help of his beloved, after all. The swordsman had responded with a laugh, and Brady had feared it was one of rightful rejection at his stupid idea. Owain, attuned as he was to Brady’s subtle changes in mood, had quickly smothered those doubts in warm kisses, explaining that he’d, in fact, been considering the same idea, and thought _Brady_ would be the one to brush it off. With renewed confidence, they decided to see Inigo.

The dancer’s first thoughts, as always, were those of Gerome. How would he live without Inigo by his side? _Quite easily_ , Gerome had responded. Later, after Inigo had finished his nightly ritual of sobbing until Gerome manhandled him into a state of calm, the knight apologized for his attempt at humor. He was fine with having some time to himself; he knew his own feelings for the silver-haired idiot wouldn’t fade in time, and some time apart might even give them room to explore the possibilities of their open relationship. Inigo knew he’d always have a home (and a wyvern) to come home to; why not let his heart grow a bit fonder with absence?

So, as the pieces began to fall into place, Brady started making the necessary arrangements. He’d wanted to tell Maribelle last, not wanting to give her a chance to berate him into reconsidering, but the fact of the matter was, the troupe needed transport, and Maribelle had a literal stable of fine steeds to carry them. So, after a day of alternately trying to psych himself up and calm himself down, he spoke to his mother. What he’d intended to be a determined statement of purpose came out as a nervous mumble that quickly dissolved into open sobbing, but the message came through loud and clear nonetheless.

Maribelle, to his surprise, was nothing less than fully supportive. Grinning at the thought of her son finally gathering the courage to leap from the nest, she supplied him her sturdiest pack horse, and a few days of instruction on controlling Noah. The other boys already had some experience with riding under their belts; enough to get them from town to town without running into a ditch on the way, at least. Brady bonded quickly with Noah, his gentle demeanor with animals coming to his aid as he forged a bond with their fourth companion.

Maribelle had been less thrilled about Brady’s refusal of money; he insisted that having ample funds for their journey would undercut the hardy spirit of living on the road, and it took an hour of argument to come to a compromise; she’d sew a pouch of gold coins into Brady’s beloved childhood stuffed rabbit, requiring Brady to rip Mr. Snugglebuns to pieces to retrieve the money, ensuring its use only a true emergency. Brady had taken the newly-enriched plush with a sigh and a weary thank you, promising Maribelle he’d tell her before they departed.

That toy now lay safely in Morgan’s hands, the youngster unaware of the treasure hidden inside. Brady didn’t need that kind of temptation, he decided, and his old toy went to a better use this way, too.

* * *

They set off on a foggy morning near the end of winter, when small sprouts began to peek through the damp patches of snow melting by the roadside. A small procession had gathered to see the boys off. Their parents were present, to provide hugs and farewells of varying levels of tearfulness. Lucina and Severa had come, too, wishing them luck on their journey and threats of mutilation if they didn’t return with gifts, respectively. Morgan rode on Lucina’s shoulders, gleefully waving Brady’s gift with a toothy grin, unaware of Maribelle’s death glare when she noticed where her ‘emergency funding’ had gone.

Inigo choked back a sob as Owain loaded the last of their belongings onto the hitched wagon. He knew Gerome hated getting up this early now that he could afford not to, but he’d thought this occasion would warrant a visit regardless. Thankfully, it came not a moment too late, the masked rider swooping in to leave Inigo with a spare mask (“for memories’ sake, and to hide your identity when you inevitably make a fool of yourself”) and a quick peck on the cheek. Even Minerva nuzzled her snout against the mercenary’s chest softly, a sight that never failed to terrify Olivia, in fears that a stray breath could ignite her son.

With one final scramble to ensure everything was in check, and that he’d hugged Ma and Pa extra tight (on the off chance it would be the last time he did so), Brady hopped aboard. Inigo had taken the reins, having the most experience (and sleep) of the trio, leaving Owain and Brady to dangle their legs out the back, kicking idly as they slowly got moving.

Owain stood, giving a dramatic bow of farewell, before he retreated deeper into the wagon to catch some shut-eye before dawn truly broke. Brady’s eyes brimmed with tears as he waved goodbye to his friends and family, not stopping until the mist had rendered them truly out of sight, and a bit longer even then. He muffled a sob, dabbing at his watery eyes with one of the many handkerchiefs he’d packed for such occasions, and briefly considered running back for just one more embrace, when he received one from a certain swordsman.

“Don’t worry, Brady,” Owain’s voice was warm and comforting, like a favorite blanket, as he nuzzled the priest’s hair from behind. “This is going to be the time of our lives.”


	2. Travelers and Taverns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The touring troupe arrive at their first venue

A hand on his shoulder shaking him awake was the first thing Brady noticed. The clop of hooves on cobblestone and the scent of burnt coffee followed. Shrugging the hand away drowsily, Brady stretched his gangly limbs, knuckles smacking against the canvas roof over him.

“Coffee?” Owain offered, handing the priest a mug with a black substance with the texture of tar. Brady took a sip, and finding no place to politely spit in his immediate vicinity, grudgingly swallowed.

“Don’t tell me ya started a fire in here for _this_ ,” he muttered, trying to move subtly towards the rear of the wagon to dump the remaining liquid out onto the road.

“Surely, you don’t take me for such a fool?” Owain gasped, pressing a palm against his chest in mock indignation. “A true hero is not content to rest on his laurels of mastery of the blade, so I enlisted Laurent to teach me in the arts of the dark arts!”

With a demonstrative snap of his fingers, a tiny flame, no bigger than one from a matchstick, appeared above Owain’s index finger. He waited until Brady nodded appreciatively before waving his hand to extinguish the flame, quickly puffing air onto his burnt finger. “I’ll admit, boiling water with this method was quite time-consuming, but I nontheless hope you enjoy the fruits borne of my labor!”

Brady took another look at his coffee, and decided that if Owain would go through such pain to brew it for him, the least he could do was stomach the pain of ‘enjoying’ it. “Don’t suppose you got any spells to get some sugar or anythin’?”

With a laugh, Owain produced a pouch from his bag, tossing it to Brady with a smile. “Tell me when you’re feeling sufficiently awake, because it’s your turn to take the reins next.”

Brady grumbled sleepily as he sprinkled some sugar into his cup, watching the coarse grains sink into the pitch-black sludge with a grimace. No one had claimed this adventure wouldn’t come without its share of hardships…

* * *

They quickly fell into a routine, rotating out of the saddle every few miles to rest and avoid soreness. Brady heard Owain snoring loudly as Inigo hummed to himself while he was in control. When Owain helmed the steed, his constant variations of the command to stay on track and move forward never ceased to amaze Brady with their variety. Brady most looked forward to when Inigo took the reins, giving him a chance to cozy up with Owain in the cramped spaces between their belongings, letting his seemingly never-ending roster of legends and tales of heroic might lull him into a comfortable sleep.

It was two days’ journey to the nearest town at the modest pace they set, and as the sun began to fall and the light grew scarcer, they pulled off to a clearing by the road to rest for the night. Brady and Inigo gathered some dried twigs and grass for Owain to ignite, using the kindling to pass the blaze onto some larger logs, until they had a decently-sized campfire to huddle around.

It was Inigo who suggested they get into the habit of practicing before bed, to ensure their skills wouldn’t grow rusty during their travels. The first few notes from Brady’s violin were hair-raising, but after a few minutes of tuning the strings and warming up his fingers, he fell into a well-worn routine, playing a classic melody as Owain put on his most dramatic, far-reaching voice to recite the exploits of the hero-king. Inigo’s graceful movements provided a pleasing, if unorthodox accompaniment, movements choreographed to the beats of the music and story to evoke images of bloody clashes and tense arguments to surprising effectiveness. When it all clicked, when the narrative had reached its apex, the violin howling to a fever pitch as the dancer struck an impossible pose, it was magic of the truest kind.

Satisfied with their rehearsal, they retired for the night. Inigo rolled his eyes as Owain beckoned to Brady to share their blanket, which he’d inexplicably pitched onto the grass rather than used for its intended purpose. Inigo instead curled up by the fire, bundling himself in a cocoon of blankets and spare jackets (a dancer needed to be limber, something the soreness of sleeping on cold dirt stood at odds with).

It hadn’t been a particularly cold night to begin with, but Brady’s heart nontheless beat with warmth as Owain pointed out the constellations dotting the clear night sky above. It dawned on him that this was real, this was happening, and that things would be okay.

* * *

 

In his rush to make sure all the essentials were accounted for, Brady had forgotten that some luxuries would be appreciated on the road, as well. Luckily, Owain had accounted for this, a deck of playing cards and a pair of dice he’d stashed amongst his tomes and costumes going a long way towards staving off the inevitable boredom that came with an uneventful day of travel. Brady practiced his violin as they stopped at midday, letting Noah rest as they devoured the last of the meat pies and apples they’d packed for the journey. There wasn’t much room for perishable goods, and Inigo had loudly declared his want to sample local delicacies at each of the locales they’d visit (though he later insisted he’d meant that figuratively).

They’d seemingly made good time, as the first village came into view shortly before sunset. Owain proposed they take their first evening slow, boarding Noah at the stables before having a hot meal (that all three realized they’d missed a lot faster than they thought they would) and a pint at the inn. Bellies filled with stew and bread, they set about chatting with the locals, inquiring about any taverns or inns in want of performers.

As it so happened, the very Napping Boar’s Inn in which they stood had lost their band-in-residence to a vicious rabbit attack the week prior, and after a brief discussion with the innkeeper, they came to an agreement; a room and the single bed within would be theirs for as long as they entertained the patrons in the evenings, as would half of any tips they earned. It wasn’t the greatest arrangement on their end (and Inigo whined about needing to share a bed with two lovebirds, much to Brady’s mortification), but Owain had agreed to it on the spot, dashing off to the stables to fetch their belongings before either of them could raise a finger in protest.

* * *

 

“Would you two stop going at it for one second?! How do you expect me to perform without sufficient beauty rest?” Inigo hissed in the darkness.

“Stop goin’ at _what_?” Brady grumbled.

“You know exactly what! Don’t think I don’t hear Owain grunting back there!”

“Grunting?!” Brady was at a momentary loss for words. “Inigo, ain’t ya ever heard of snoring?”

Inigo offered silence in response, pulling the covers over with a jolt.

“Hey! Quit it!” Brady barked, yanking the blanket back over himself.

“Well, excuse me for wanting some warmth too, when you’ve got Mr. Human Furnace himself spooning you in the buff.”

“Would’ja knock it off?! If ya don’t wanna share the bed, the floor ain’t looking very occup-“

A noise from Owain made the squabblers go quiet, in fear that their bickering had woken him; once his regular rhythm of snores resumed, Inigo’s voice had grown gentler.

“I’m sorry for being such a dick, Brady. Maybe it would be better if I got my own room.”

“No point wastin’ scratch like that. We just gotta learn to get along, I ‘spose.”

He felt the mattress shift slightly from Inigo’s shrug. “Whatever you say.”

“Night.”

“Good night,” Inigo chirped, and eventually they managed to sleep, despite the snores of the swordsman between them.


	3. Performance Anxiety

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first show

Inigo sat up a bit straighter, peering over Brady’s head towards the front door of the inn. “Alright, looks like the dinner crowd’s coming in,” He pat the corner of his lips with his napkin, revealing his most dazzling smile. “You guys ready to make your grand debut?”

“But of course! My aching blood yearns for a chance to shine through for the benefit of the people!” Owain boasted, raising his hand in a heroic gesture that necessitated Inigo peek around it.

“Of course it is,” Inigo rolled his eyes, settling back into his seat as his fingers fiddled idly with the loose hem of his shirt. “And you, Brady?”

The priest stared into his bowl, shoving another spoonful of stew into his mouth in place of an answer.

“Nervous?” Inigo surmised, taking the way Brady grimaced to mean he was correct. “It’s alright to be nervous, Brady. Even if you flub it, all the eyes are gonna be on me, anyway.”

“Well, ain’t that a relief?” Brady scowled, but in truth, it was; he wasn’t used to performing with so many eyes upon him, where even the tiniest mistake would be magnified in broadcast. The knowledge that there would be a buffer between him and the judgemental crowd did go some way towards easing his nerves. Then again, the townspeople likely weren’t the most discerning consumers of music to begin with; as long as he kept things loud and lively, he was sure they’d be content.

Brady flinched slightly as a firm hand squeezed his thigh in comfort. “Inigo’s right, for once,” Owain paused to stick his tongue out playfully at the dancer, receiving a rude gesture in return, before continuing. “Just relax and work your magic, and things’ll work out alright.”

Brady nodded, swallowing the last spoonful of food. “Yeah, ‘yer right,” he conceded, standing to retrieve his instrument from their room. “Back in a jiff.”

“Curtains in five minutes!” Inigo called after him, ignoring the fact that the closest thing to curtains in this establishment was the old, ale-stained rug covering the floorboards.

* * *

Brady squeezed his eyes shut, beads of sweat gathering on his brow. He wasn’t sure if they came from nerves, or the heat of the torches casting light upon the pile of boards in the corner that passed for a stage. Maybe it was both.

_Just breathe_ , he reminded himself, forcing a shaky breath out through his nose before drawing another. The smell of burnt meat and unwashed laborers wasn’t one that could be described as pleasant, but he’d smelled worse. _Fresh blood. Funeral pyres. Corpses_ -.

He took another breath, willing his eyes not to water to little avail. _That’s behind us now. Just quit thinkin’ and start playin’._

* * *

Even simply standing in place waiting for Brady’s cue, Owain took a heroic stance. Feet apart at shoulder width, chest thrust out with his fists clenched at his sides, he projected an aura of strength and protection, even as the threat of anxiety gnawed at the edges of his façade.

It was said in times of desperation, people looked to the past to draw strength. Owain knew he had; the tales of valor and courage from long-gone ancestors spurred him on during the war, willing him not to let his heroic blood be shed in vain. Even now that it had passed, people still faced their mundane, but no less real, struggles, and if he could do something to help raise their spirits, even if but for an evening, then it was his duty to do so.

_Be brave, Owain. Be bold. Be the hero you know you are!_

* * *

It was at times like these that Inigo was especially thankful for all the breathing exercises his mother had insisted upon teaching him as a child. All he’d wanted to do at the time was to start dancing; why bother with inhaling and exhaling slowly beforehand? It’s not like his lungs would suddenly forget how to work when he got moving, right?

But now, taking a deep breath in through his nose, and holding it for a moment before releasing it, he saw the wisdom in those practices; his racing heart calmed just a little bit with each repetition, enough that he’d be able to break into the rhythm until inertia would carry him the rest of the way.

_It’s showtime._

* * *

The show stumbled out of the gate; in his panic, Brady’s sweat-slicked finger had slipped, nudging the wrong string and producing the wrong note. He braced himself for the inevitable booing and pelting of rotten fruit, but none came; the crowd’s din had continued more or less as normal, seemingly having not noticed his error. He quickly pat his hands against his robes to dry them, before taking the bow once more. “Let’s try that again,” he murmured, before starting fresh.

The second time was the charm; the note came out at the perfect pitch, as did the next, and the one after. He focused on the melody, an upbeat and jovial one they’d agreed suited the atmosphere of the dining hall, and as Owain began spinning his yarn and Inigo provided visual accompaniment, he felt himself growing more comfortable with his role; as in battle, his place was in the sidelines, where the attention was off him, but his support was nontheless vital for everything to come together into a cohesive whole.

The tune ended, fading into another with a practiced subtlety, fingers dancing along the strings as he glided his bow at just the right angle. At the pace he was playing, he knew his digits would be raw and chafed by the end of the night, but that hardly mattered right now; he had vulneraries and staves aplenty, and besides, all artists suffered for their craft in one way or another, right?

Their performance seemed to be garnering a positive, if modest, reaction. Conversations faded into the background as more members of the crowd found themselves engrossed in the spectacle onstage. A few laughs and approving whoops came in time, something that encouraged Inigo to go flashier, grander, now that they had some attention; an engaged crowd tended to be more generous with their coin, after all.

As Owain’s saga came to a climax, and Brady’s fiddling hit a crescendo, all eyes were on them now, and when he halted for dramatic effect, the hall was dead silent. Then came the epic conclusion, the victory of good against the forces of evil, notes crashing against one another in as the crowd erupted into cheers and whistles, lasting through the riveting conclusion and even as the performers took a bow.

Tears were once again brimming in Brady’s eyes, but these were of pride rather than fear. They’d survived their first night. Better than survived, in fact; they’d done _well_. A single call for an encore became a chorus, and his violin was tucked back under his chin. Bleeding fingers be damned, he was going to give the crowd what they wanted.

* * *

"WE DID IT!” Owain shouted as he shut the door behind them, not going very far towards muffling him at all. “That was incredible!”

“That was indeed… quite a spectacle,” Inigo panted, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. “Phew, that was the longest I’ve danced in… ages, really. I’m beat."

“I think ya earned a nice hot soak then,” Brady smiled (though with him, it came more as a good-natured sneer). “ ‘sides, don’t want ya stinkin’ up the place with yer’ sweatiness,” he teased, throwing a towel towards the dancer, catching him unaware as it smacked into his face.

“Oh, is that your way of asking for some privacy?” Inigo smirked, draping the towel over his shoulder to free his hands, making a lewd gesture as he left the room for the baths. “Later, pervs!”

“That truly was fantastic, Brady,” Owain smiled, plating a chaste kiss on Brady’s jaw. “And come to think of it, I’m still feeling invigorated from the roar of the crowd! So, if you wanted to take advantage of Inigo’s absence-“

He was cut short by Brady’s lips meeting his, a hunger Owain hadn’t seen in a long time evident in his fiery gaze. “You bet yer ass I wanna,” he panted as he broke from the kiss. “I’ve been waitin’ for him to get outta our hair for three days now!”

“We did great today,” Owain beamed as he returned with a kiss of his own, cupping the priest’s chin as he moaned into his lips. “So let’s celebrate.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was pretty hard to write, and I'm still not very happy with it, but I doubt I could've gotten away with writing a fic about the performers without them ever actually performing, so here it is.


	4. Friction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inigo isn't himself, and the boys don't know why

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, as a warning, this is a prelude to the threesome scene I'd had in mind/lowkey wanted to write from the beginning of this project. I'll be posting the scene itself as a separate fic, both so you could avoid it if needed, as well as to keep the rating for this story as a whole from increasing.

Owain was already well on his way to dreamland, and Brady half a step behind, when the door slammed open, a not-quite-sober Inigo announcing his entrance.

“Mind doin’ that again? Think some of our neighbors might still be sleepin’…” Brady growled, scooching further back into Owain’s embrace to make some room for their companion.

“S’ what?” the dancer slurred, tossing himself into bed, not bothering to undress. “Tired’f bein’ the only one not sleepin’ ‘round ‘ere…”

“Well, ain’t no reason to piss on our parade, aight? So shaddup and get some rest,” Brady grumbled.

“Whatever. Peace, love _nerds_ …” Inigo laughed, before quickly nodding off, much to Brady’s relief. All his constant teasing had began to grate at Brady; was this Inigo’s idea of lighthearted banter, or was he truly bitter of the fact that Owain was there and Gerome wasn’t?

It wasn’t worth dwelling upon, not at this hour, Brady figured, so he let sleep claim him before his thoughts could keep him awake any longer.

* * *

The boys quickly found themselves falling into a decent rhythm as the days went on; a hearty breakfast at the break of dawn, before they split up for the day to go about the town. Owain kept himself busy (and in shape) with various odd jobs, helping toss hay at the stables or unload merchants’ carts for some spare coin, which he’d use in the evenings to treat their troupe to a round of ale after a successful performance.

Brady found himself swarmed by all sorts of people young and old, alternately praising his skill on violin and offering him money to protect them against robbers. He wasn’t sure if the latter was meant as a compliment or in earnest, but he took it in stride; it wasn’t every day his thuggish demeanor earned his opportunities rather than horrified gasps.

Neither of them knew what Inigo was up to, though; only that he seemed more ragged and heavy-hearted with each passing day as they regrouped for dinner and their show. It slowly began to affect his performance, as well; it was subtle, but to someone who’d known him as long as they had, every slight misstep or tiny stumble made it clear something was wrong.

* * *

“We should talk to him,” Owain stated with uncharacteristic softness as Brady pulled on his nightshirt.

“I ain’t gonna barge into the baths again, but if you wanna go and have a chat in the buff, be my guest,” he snorted.

“I don’t mean _now_ , silly,” Owain chuckled, kicking his feet at the bed’s edge as he waited his turn. “I mean, when he gets back, we should ask him what’s up.”

“Whaddaya mean? Why he ain’t been so chipper lately?”

“Yes, that’s exactly it. One of my many heroic talents is finding the cause of people’s worries, so that I may sever the ties that bog their spirits down and send them soaring skywards!” Owain’s voice rose in volume with each word, until he noticed Brady wincing at his loudness and returned to a more decent level. It was a work in progress.

“What was that? Soren’s guys?” Inigo chirped as he slipped in, clad in his bath towel, a few stray droplets still falling from his silver locks.

“Eh, somethin’ like that,” Brady shrugged. “Er, how’re ya doin’, Inigo? What’s got yer britches in a bunch?”

Inigo cocked an eyebrow. “What are you talking about?”

“My dearest friend, it is plain to see that something troubles your weary mind!” Owain declared in typically grandiose fashion, having clearly rehearsed this before. “Every evening, you depart with a smile plastered to your face, yet every morning you return, a frown creasing your-“

“Alright, I get it, Owain,” Inigo sighed, dropping into the cracked leather of the armchair that sat in the corner. “I’ll be honest, the last few nights haven’t been too great. I go out lookin’ for some... er, you know-“

“Action?” Brady interjected.

Inigo rolled his eyes half-heartedly. “I’d prefer _moments of romantic affection_ , but sure, ‘action’ works too,” he scoffed. “But I guess what you call it doesn’t matter, cause it always ends the same way; I blow all my money on any gal- or guy,- that I think I might have a chance with, and then they wink and bid me adieu without so much as a good-night kiss!”

Brady swallowed; he wasn’t sure what he’d expected the answer to have been, exactly; even after his engagement to Gerome, Inigo hadn't missed a beat with his womanizing ways, something the couple had agreed would suit both just fine.

“Couldn’t ya just, er… keep it in yer pants till we get back home?” Brady offered sheepishly.

“Ha!” Inigo exclaimed, though the sound was closer to a sob than a laugh. “Easy for _you_ to say, when you’ve got the love of your life spooning you every night!” He wiped at his nose with the back of his hand, and Brady realized he really was on the verge of tears. “Hell, I don’t even have a moment alone to rub one out,” Inigo continued, another mirthless laugh escaping his throat.

Brady exchanged an uneasy glance with Owain, wondering if the swordsman’s thoughts had reached the same conclusion as his own. He had to admit; despite his rather blunt manner of speaking, he felt sorry for the dancer. He worked just as hard as any of them, only to be met with loneliness and envy. Sure, he had them as friends, but Brady knew well enough that was cold comfort when he had to go to bed alone every night.

Owain bit his lip, rubbing the back of his neck as he snuck another glance at Brady. _Wonder if he’d be up for it..._ Owain wanted to help a friend in need, but this hadn’t exactly been a possibility they’d discussed before. “Brady, a moment?” he asked, motioning for the priest to meet him in the hall.

“So you’re thinkin’ 'bout it too, huh?” Brady murmured as he shut the door behind them. Owain nodded silently.

“We don’t have to, of course,” Owain added. “If it’s not something you’re… up for.”

Brady thought on that for a moment. “Well... I ain’t against it, either,” he admitted. “Poor guy deserves somethin’, is all.”

“Truly. And I can only imagine the heartache of having to leave one’s beloved behind to seek adventure…” Owain sighed, looking to Brady for a final sign of approval. The nervous smile and thumbs-up he received was enough.

He cracked the door, peeking into the room. “Inigo?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll post the actual chapter tomorrow, or whenever I get it done.


	5. Shared Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trio begin the next leg of their journey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would you believe me if I said I honestly still think of them as just really good friends with Inigo.
> 
> Also, there's some sorta implied PTSD in this chapter (there was some earlier as well, but it's more explicit here). I personally don't have any experience with it, so please let me know if I did it wrong!

The dawn sunlight filtering through the slats in the windowpanes fell upon Inigo’s face, basking him in the warm light as he blinked his groggy eyes awake. He instinctively moved to stretch with a yawn, but found himself cocooned by the combined forces of his companions, arms still wrapped tight around his torso, keeping him pinned down to the bed until further notice.

With a weary smile, he relaxed back into the embrace, shutting his eyes in rest. What need was there to go out so early, anyway?

* * *

Brady was the second to wake, finding himself curled against Inigo’s side. The dancer wore an almost serene expression, eyes shut as a gentle smile graced his lips.

“Mornin’,” Brady smirked. “Feelin’ better?”

“Much,” Inigo nodded, that smile soon replaced with a scowl as Brady landed a playful flick on his forehead.

“Glad t’ hear it.”

* * *

Things had at returned to normal, yet changed at the same time, it seemed; all three were in greater spirits during their (exceedingly late) breakfast, all laughter and grins and friendly punches on the shoulder. It was as if the tension between them had evaporated, replaced by a warm sense of comfortable familiarity. None of them were really sure what it meant, or how it had come to be, but they appreciated it nonetheless.

* * *

They agreed this coming night would be their last in this particular locale; Noah was eager to stretch his legs after a week of being cooped up in a stable, and a grand journey with only one stop wasn’t much of a grand journey, was it? It would be best to take in some new sights and fresh faces while their spirits were on the rebound, Owain figured.

And so they spent the day finding the new friends they’d made around town, thanking them for their hospitality and promising another visit on their return trip. At sunset, they reconvened at the inn, putting on their liveliest performance yet. The tips flowed freely, as did the drink at their farewell dinner, and the three staggered up to their room, drunkenly giggling and daring each other to kiss before quickly succumbing to sleep.

* * *

Owain rose at the crack of dawn, chipper and energetic as anyone waking with a belly full of spirits had ever been. He detached himself from the tangle of limbs that had ensnared him upon the bed, and began packing their materials in preparation for their departure.

Brady managed to catch Owain unawares, creeping up behind the crouched poet as the examined his blade for tarnish. He nuzzled his cheek (slightly fuzzy; he’d need to remember to shave before they embarked) against the shorter man’s nape, earning a laugh and a kiss (that required Owain to bend his head back at an angle Brady wasn’t sure would be healthy).

The priest decided to make himself useful by running downstairs, returning with three mugs of fresh coffee balanced carefully on in one hand, a tray holding cream, sugar, and a few slices of bread for breakfast in the other. Inigo munched on his portion still half-covered by the sheets, not caring about the crumbs he left behind; he’d be doing the laundry in a moment anyway.

With everything squared away, they split up for a moment. Brady to groom, Inigo to launder, and Owain to haul their bags back to the stable. He met the two with Noah by the front of the inn, handing Inigo the reins (“you got the most beauty sleep out of us, after all!”). With one last wave goodbye to the few people they recognized, they set off.

* * *

Half an hour out of town, and Owain was already doodling furiously in one of his sketchbooks, trying to map out the scene before him as they trotted along. Their road cut a narrow path between stalks of grain that reached up to even Brady’s shoulders. In another time, he might’ve paid more attention to possible spots where an enemy could lie in ambush. Or there may not have been any grain at all, rather an empty field littered with charred stalks and fallen soldiers.

Thankfully, things were better now. He’d take images of boring domesticity over the “thrill” of battle any day.

Brady peeked over Owain’s shoulder, nothing the quick, yet still careful way his pen flew over the page. It still looked hideous, of course; Owain’s artistic ability was already rather limited without the jostling of the wagon to further destabilize him. But the poet seemed to be enjoying himself regardless, and even though his “wheat” more closely resembled a fence constructed of half-eaten asparagus, Brady had to admit his sketches still held a sort of charm.

“Lookin’ good,” he smiled, earning a quick thumbs-up from Owain as the wagon pulled to a stop.

“Alright, I’m about to pass out. Someone get up here,” Inigo’s voice came from the front. Brady decided to volunteer; Owain had a drawing to finish.

* * *

The next leg of their journey would be longer than anticipated, they realized as they pored over a map by the flickering orange glow of the fire. They’d failed to account for the particularly heavy rainy season; one that was still ongoing, if the clouds they’d spotted hovering in the distance were any indication. The riverbed they’d hoped to cross would likely still be running, forcing them to veer several miles to the north to cross over a bridge, which would cost them better part of a day.

Owain and Inigo shared an uneasy glance at the mention of the bridge. Brady cast a confused look their way. “Somethin’ wrong?” he asked, before the realization hit him. “Oh, right.”

The silence was palpable, punctuated by the distant chirp of crickets and an occasional crackle from the fire. Inigo rested his chin on his knees, staring at the blaze vacantly.

Owain cleared his throat after a moment. “As long as we don’t cut the bridge down, I’m sure it’ll be fine,” he chuckled uneasily. Inigo and Brady laughed along politely. It wasn’t very funny.

Brady instead studied the map carefully, mapping out rough estimates of the distances involved with his finger. “Y’know, if one of ya can ride first tomorrow, I can take over once we get there to give ya a chance to relax.”

Owain managed a nervous smile, despite the anxiety pooling in his gut like a puddle of smoldering embers. “Your courage is commendable, Ser Brady! I shall be the one to take up the reins at the crack of dawn to ferry us to our destination!”

Inigo nodded. “Thanks, Brady.” He knew it was stilly to be so nervous; it was just a dumb bridge, after all. They’d be over it in no time, all this worry was probably for nothing.

With that, they began preparing for bed. They had to admit, it was a lot warmer now that they no longer had to split the blankets between themselves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fuck, I edited literally to change one word for clarification, not realizing it would bump the fic :/. I'll try to get the newest chapter out soon to compensate.  
> Edit 2: NVM


	6. The Crossing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Owain and Inigo must face their pasts during their journey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, at last, the next chapter's here! I have ideas for the next one already, too, so hopefully I'll be able to resume a somewhat regular pace with updates come summertime.
> 
> Also, as a warning, this chapter deals with trauma and anxiety, though it's not super graphic or drawn-out.

“We almost there?”

“Almost,” Brady’s voice carried from the front to confirm. Inigo took another breath, closing his eyes for just a moment. A rough dirt trail littered with the colorful debris of autumn flew by under their wheels, the crackle of dead leaves replacing the clop of horseshoe on cobblestone they’d grown accustomed to over their voyage. The low light of the afternoon sun filtered through the bare branches of the trees the path wound through, casting long shadows like creeping tendrils across the canopy roof of the wagon.

Or like hands. Fingers. Reaching from the darkness to drag them back in.

Inigo shut his eyes once more.

* * *

The road to the river had taken longer to traverse than expected; by the time they’d reached the run-up to the bridge, night had nearly fallen. Brady proposed they set up camp and turn in early for the evening, and cross first thing the next morning. After considering this plan for a moment, the others decided to press on. They’d already spent the better part of two days anticipating this; why drag it out any longer?

Owain cleared his throat as they prepared to set off again. “Allow me,” he declared, stepping out of the wagon towards the horse. The slight waver to his voice was subtle enough that most wouldn’t have noticed, but Brady did. He paused, slipping his foot out of the stirrup back onto the ground.

“You sure? It really ain’t no bother,” he offered quietly; exhausted as he was from being at the reins for so long, this was a promise he had every intention of keeping.

Owain gave a half-grimace in response. “Sure as I am that I continue to draw breath! A hero can only overcome their fears by facing them headlong, after all!”

With a hesitant nod, Brady dismounted fully, letting Owain climb into the saddle as he took a seat beside Inigo at the back.

* * *

The clouds looming overhead gave away at last to a faint drizzle, that quickly became a steady downpour battering the riders as they pressed forward. The approaching roar of rushing water told Owain they’d likely reached the crossing at last, and as they came around a final bend, he spotted it, right there before them.

There was really nothing remarkable about it, a plain stone bridge no more than one or two hundred meters in length. Owain took a deep breath, hoping the cool air would placate the snakes beginning to coil in his gut. _It’s just a bridge._ He squeezed his eyes shut, focusing on his breathing and the gentle patter of the rain against his skin as they slowly made their way across. _We’re not under attack this time. We’re safe, and everything’s going to be fine…_

A small crack from beneath Noah’s hoof made Owain jolt upright in his seat, scanning the ground for traps or splintered beams or- _no_ , it was just a twig, likely cast off from one of the trees by the wind. His gaze impulsively moved to the side of the bridge, before he slammed his eyes shut again. It was too late. The sight of the water dozens of meters below brought those memories flooding back, crumbling the levies he’d hoped would keep them at bay. Owain’s fingers tightened around the reins, gritting his teeth to try to ride out the wave of anxiety. He felt like he was about to throw up.

In his efforts to keep himself together, Owain hadn’t noticed that they’d come to a stop, not even halfway across the bridge by the looks of it. _There’s no way I can do this_ , he whimpered silently, before smacking himself on the forehead in disgust. _Of course you can, coward! What sort of legendary hero would let a simple viaduct get the better of them?!_ Hot tears leaked from the corners of Owain’s eyes, leaving slimy trails in their wake even as they quickly became indistinguishable from the raindrops dotting his burning cheeks. The last of the afternoon light had faded away, leaving only a faint twilight glow to guide them. _Well? What’re you waiting for?! Get moving already!_

Something tugged at his leg, and Owain shrieked, kicking instinctively in its direction. Inigo jumped back, dodging the blow narrowly as he put his palms up in a show of surrender. “Easy, Owain. It’s just me,” he reassured, just barely audible over the storm and the ringing in Owain’s ears. “We really need to keep going. May I take over?”

Owain couldn’t rid himself of the reins fast enough; heroic dignity be damned, he wasn’t about to let Inigo get an eyeful of him sobbing like this by drawing out an argument. _Though there hadn’t been a note of mockery in his tone_ , Owain registered somewhere in the back of his mind.

Brady was waiting cross-legged beside a heap of blankets, hastily pulled from their bags and gathered in a pile to greet Owain as the swordsman clambered into the back of the wagon. He curled up beside the priest, pressing his palms against his face to try to block his tears as Brady draped a blanket over his side.

“It’s just gonna get wet,” Owain managed to mutter between breaths; he felt as if he’d been soaked through to the very bone by the stinging chill of the water.

“It’ll dry,” was all Brady said, shifting closer to Owain until his head rested against Brady’s side. His shoulders quaked with each sob, but the comforting feeling of the priest’s embrace helped bring him back somewhat, his supply of tears eventually running dry as they left the bridge behind in the distance.

* * *

Brady had lost track of the time as they trudged on through the dark, not wanting to move and disturb Owain’s slumber. It had to have been at least an hour, and yet Inigo kept them moving along the dimly lit trail carving its way through the dense wood of the forest.

There wasn’t much risk of getting lost; the path was rather well-marked by dense groves of birch on both sides, making wandering off the beaten path difficult. Still, he wondered why they’d kept going; he’d assumed the plan to set up camp once the crossing was completed was agreed upon.

He decided to make his move as their pace slowed going around a bend. Carefully laying Owain’s head on the heap of bedding opposite him, Brady lowered himself out of the wagon, jogging alongside until he was close enough to Inigo to whisper.

“Where we headin’? Ain’t ya tired?” he inquired.

“Nope.” Inigo didn’t stop, or even slow down for that matter.

Brady’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Ya sure ‘yer okay, Inigo? It’s really fine if ya wanna call it a night.”

“Nah,” came the monosyllabic reply, bluntly stated as though it was obvious. “Gotta keep my mind off stuff somehow,” Inigo let slip, sensing Brady’s puzzlement.

Brady kept pace in silence for a moment, pondering Inigo’s words. He’d taken the reins from Owain seemingly without a second thought, despite his own anxiety equaling, if not exceeding, the myrmidon’s. In fact, as much as Brady hated to admit it to himself, he’d expected Inigo to pitch a fit about the whole ordeal, to the point that he hadn’t even bothered asking about his feelings in the first place.

Brady glanced upwards, trying to make out Inigo’s expression in the dark. Between flashes of moonlight through the gaps in the canopy, he could make out the dried streaks lining Inigo’s cheeks, the faint way his hands trembled despite the rather warm weather. This was definitely bothering him more than he let on.

Unsure of what else to do, and in increasing need of sleep, Brady awkwardly shoved his foot beside Inigo’s in the stirrup, awkwardly slinging his leg over the side to seat himself behind the dancer.

“What’re you doing?” Inigo sighed, a note of exasperation to his voice. Brady remained silent, simply wrapping his arms around Inigo’s shoulders in (what he hoped was) a comforting hug. “Quit it.” Brady refused to relent, tightening his grip as the dancer attempted to squirm free.

“Ain’t lettin’ go till ya come to bed,” Brady muttered under his breath.

Inigo groaned with exasperation, grudgingly bringing the horse to a stop at a small clearing by the side of the road.

“There. Happy?”

Despite his audible annoyance, Inigo couldn’t contain the tiny smile that pulled at the corners of his mouth at Brady’s persuasion technique. The priest planted a tiny kiss on his forehead before slipping out of the saddle, offering a hand to the dancer to assist him in doing the same.

They joined Owain in the jumble of blankets in the back, quickly nodding off to catch a few hours of sleep before the sun came up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks a ton to Jack and Adrian for helping me get the way the boys respond to trauma right. This was a pretty serious chapter, and a big part of why it took so long was me wanting to do the topic some justice, so I'd love to hear any feedback you might have about it.


	7. Decompression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trio finally arrive at the next town

Brady muttered a curse to himself for what felt like the hundredth time as his forehead made contact with the unyielding wood beams of the wagon canopy. No matter how many times the gentle sway of the rickety wheels had helped him nod off during their travels, he never quite seemed to remember just how _cramped_ it was back here, without a fresh welt (and a laugh from Inigo, if he happened to witness it) to remind him.

Rubbing the newest bump in the growing collection lining the ridge of his brow, Brady carefully maneuvered himself feet-first towards the exit, dropping onto the dewy grass with a soft thump. Eyes adjusting to the faint light granted by the moon, he spotted the familiar spiky-coifed silhouette of his boyfriend, sitting cross-legged a few paces away. A dark form lay slumped over by his side, one Brady recognized as belonging to Inigo as he shuffled closer.

“Evenin’,” he breathed softly, wincing slightly at the stiffness of his back as he seated himself beside Owain.

The swordsman offered a nod of acknowledgement at Brady’s arrival, not taking his gaze off the vast, star-dotted canopy above through a clearing in the tree line. “Well met, Ser Brady. I did not wish to disturb your slumber, but it seems fate had other plans in store,” Owain laughed softly. The sound brought a tiny warmth to life somewhere inside Brady, who found his own lips curling into a faint grin at the return of Owain’s usual persona.

“Nice night out,” he stalled, unsure of how to broach the subject, or if it was even a subject worth broaching. It’s not like that was a lie; it truly was a gorgeous eve. Apart from the chirp of crickets and Inigo’s soft snoring nearby, the quiet of the night left room for contemplation, and Brady sure had a lot to contemplate.

As if sensing Brady’s apprehension, Owain cleared his throat first. “I… apologize, for my conduct yesterday,” his voice trembled slightly. “I know not what overcame me, but such weakness does not befit a chosen h-“

“Quiet,” Brady interrupted, unwilling to listen to the harsh words Owain aimed at himself. “It… ya ain’t-” he struggled for words, placing his hand over Owain’s (splayed out lazily on the ground behind him to support his weight), as if he’d channel the poet’s elegant grasp of language through osmosis.

“L-listen,” he began anew after a moment. “It’s… it’s alright ‘ta be scared. I dunno how many times I’ve wanted ‘ta curl up like a kid an’ hide from everythin’, but it’s plenty. Uh’-“ Brady swallowed, tears blurring the edges of his vision. “But you… ya can get scared, and still be a hero, is what I’m sayin’. When yer willin’ to face yer fears head-on, like ya did when ya took the reins back there, that’s courage. And that’s what makes ya a hero, ‘t least to me.”

It was a clumsy speech, an amalgation of the many he’d heard Owain recite throughout the years, but it seemed to have its intended effect. Owain cast his arms around Brady, knocking him off balance to the ground with one of his famous rib-crushing embraces.

“Thank you,” he simply stated. Brady nodded against his shoulder, curling his fingers into the back of Owain’s robes.

* * *

The two simply huddled together for the night, watching the stars swirl overhead to pass the time, until the faint light of dawn broke and they realized the chance to sleep had passed. Owain set about gathering kindling, as Brady rummaged through their supplies for the last of the foodstuffs. A sprinkle of oil and their last few eggs went into the dented skillet over the fire, an infinitely more efficient way of cooking a meal than over an ember atop Owain’s finger, they found.

Their supply of fresh water had been too low to spare any for dishwashing, so the decision was made to simply eat directly from the frying pan. A half-full canteen of lukewarm tea sufficed as a beverage, and an idea came to Owain’s mind as they discussed possible strategies to wake the last member of their trio so they could get moving once more.

Now slightly cooler, though still quite hot to the touch, the bottom of the skillet was balanced precariously atop Inigo’s chest, the heat transferring through the slumbering dancer’s clothes until he slumbered no more, bolting upright and nearly spilling his portion of the breakfast as he yelped in pain. “Real funny, guys!” he scowled, pressing a hand to his sternum to assure himself it hadn’t been charred to a crisp.

Brady couldn’t contain a snigger as he passed Inigo the communal fork. “Hey, ‘yer always on ‘bout how hot ya wanna be, so we figured-“

“I swear, I’m gonna run us all off a cliff next time.”

* * *

Luckily, the next town was only an hour’s ride down the road, the sun having had barely any time to rise as they pulled onto the main street in search of shelter.

“Ho there, travelers!” came a call from a stout-looking man up ahead. “Yer’ that performer trio, yeah?” he huffed as he trotted towards the wagon, nearly out of breath from the short sprint.

Owain peeked out from the back, his voice certainly loud enough to be heard at least a few continents away. “Indeed! It seems our arrival was foretold my ancient prophecies aplenty, for-!”

“Prophecies, nothin’. We just had a fella comin’ through a few days back, ravin’ about how ‘yer headed our way. Word got ‘round, now the whole town’s waitin’ for ya!” the man rambled, waving them along towards a modest set of stables.

“It seems our reputation precedes us,” Inigo chuckled from the saddle, giving Noah a pat on the side of his thick neck as he dropped to the hay-strewn ground. “Would you be so kind as to point us in the direction of your nearest innkeeper?”

“’Yer lookin’ at ‘im,” the man chuckled, extending a hand to shake a bit too tightly for the boys’ liking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took so long, I wrote it mostly on the plane and then finished it on a train. Luckily the next chapter is already underway!


	8. Homesick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, this chapter's been in development hell for so long, it took a big revision to get it out. I think I'm pretty happy with the result though, a scene like this was something I'd wanted to do since starting the fic.

New place, same arrangements. They’d be the entertainers-in-residence, in exchange for room, board, and a cut of the bar. The place seemed cozy enough; their quarters weren’t quite as roomy as they’d been in the last town, but the same could be said for the town as a whole.

Brady settled into the dull, yet oddly comforting routine of unpacking their possessions; carefully stacking Owain’s assortment of tomes and journals on the table (barely more than a large footstool, in truth), sorting the clothing by owner and need of laundering. Inigo’s dancing attire required special attention, the fragile garments requiring gentler washing to ensure they stayed in, if not one, then only as many pieces as they needed to.

The dirt and sweat of the journey had dissolved into a murky cloud left behind in the tub as Brady retrieved the washboard. Scrubbing the cloth against the hard ridges was an excellent way to work out aggression, he’d found, a fact he’d first discovered when mother had insisted on teaching him how to do so himself, in the event their servants were unavailable. It was a skill he’d put to use once that seemingly outlandish scenario had become reality, and he’d look back upon the dreary hours spent with his sleeves rolled up and his fingers turning wrinkled with nostalgia. At least he’d been spending time with her…

There was an unusually hollow feeling within Brady’s chest as he stood back to admire his handiwork, his chores finished at last. Everything had been tucked away in its proper place, the laundry had been hung on a line by the window to dry, and there was still an hour before their first performance of the night. So what was wrong?

Brady swallowed, attempting to quash that mounting sense of dread before it had a chance to blossom into paralyzing anxiety.

His throat was dry.

~

“Is something the matter, fair Brady?” Owain mused between spoonfuls of lamb and root vegetable. “Your demeanor suggests you to be… ill at ease.”

“’s nothin’,” Brady found himself avoiding Owain’s inquiring gaze, knowing he’d see right through that lie. He probably had, anyway, but there wasn’t really anything Brady could do about that. He just hoped that Inigo wouldn’t-.

“You sure? You really do look kinda tense.”

 _Well, shit_. Two against one hardly made for a fair fight, especially when Brady wasn’t in any condition to fight in the first place. He supposed he should’ve been glad his companions showed such concern for his well-being, but above all else, he didn’t want to be the dead weight holding the group back…

 _Who am I kiddin’? Every jackfart in here can see they’d be doin’ just fine without me; hell, better, even! One less mouth to feed, one less whiny sad-sack to watch out for._ Brady knew where this train of thought would lead, but he was powerless to stop it from barreling down the tracks. _What was I even thinkin’ dragging them out here? We should’a just stayed back in Ylisstol. I could’a been a sad sack on my own, an’-._

“Brady.”

Owain’s voice was blunt, serious. Brady knew that tone well, from desperate orders to retreat, from reassurances to the wounded that they’d pull through, even when it was clear they wouldn’t. The rare occasions Owain dropped his theatrics meant things were truly dire.

“What’s wrong?”

Tears streaming down his cheeks, teeth clenched hard enough to shatter bone, Brady knew there was no hiding how he felt. Wiping away the snot dribbling from his nose with the back of his sleeve, he simply shook his head and stood.

“Everythin’,” he sniffled, scuttling off back to their room.

~

“We can go back, if you so desire. The road isn’t short, but if we leave at dawn, we’d be back in about a week or-“

“Not happenin’,” Brady grumbled, voice muffled by the pillow he had his face buried in. “We didn’t come all this way for nothin’, and ‘sides, we don’t even have the cash for supplies.”

Owain rubbed his stubbly chin in thought for a moment. It was true that their funds were dwindling, and that after having to cancel what was to be their debut performance tonight, they were even scarcer than before. “Don’t beat yourself up, everyone’s got their bad days.”

“Yeah, but yers’ usually don’t mean callin’ off a big show on account ‘a someone gettin’ sentimental.” Brady laughed mirthlessly, curling onto his side facing away from Owain. “Naw, I don’t think we should go back. It’s just… really hard, bein’ away from home this long, ya know?”

Owain made a noise of agreement, kicking his bare feet idly against the side of the bed as he pondered their next move.

A sound interrupted his thoughts; one of Brady snoring. Planting a soft kiss on the violinist’s cheek, Owain snuck out of the room quietly as he could.

~

“How’s Brady holding up?”

“Not well,” Owain admitted, examining a rock before throwing it out onto the placid water of the lake with a soft _plunk_. “He’s grown weary with the novelty of a nomadic life, wishing only for the familiar comforts of his domicile.”

Inigo was silent for a moment, looking for a suitable stone to cast beneath his feet. “So… he’s homesick?”

“Yeah.”

Curling his fingers around a particularly flat rock, Inigo stood, hurling it at a shallow angle and watching it skip twice before sinking.

“He says he doesn’t wanna go back yet, though. Kinda get the feeling he’s just trying to tough it out for our sakes.”

“Mm,” Inigo furrowed his brow, before his face lit up in inspiration. “Then what if… we brought a bit of home to him?”

~

A rap at the door woke Brady from his late-afternoon slumber. “’s open,” he mumbled, pulling himself into a seated position as he attempted to rub the vestiges of drowsiness from his eyes.

A pair of muffled voices came from behind the door, followed by the sound of footsteps shuffling, before it creaked open at last. Owain came bearing a tray, upon which sat a simple white teapot and a trio of cups. Inigo followed, a bouquet in tow.

“How was yer date?” Brady grumbled, not sounding quite as jesting as he’d meant. _No, they wouldn’t do something like that, would they?_ _Then again, can’t say I didn’t deserve it, not with my behavior as of-._

“These are for you, actually,” Inigo beamed, flashing that Casanova smile as he thrust the flowers into Brady’s hands. He examined the assortment carefully; chamomile, red roses, daisies. _Just like the garden back home_ , he realized.

“Sorry if they’re not exactly the same as the ones you have, but I did the best I could tracking these down,” Inigo winked. Brady’s gaze flicked back and forth, between Inigo’s face and the gift. _Did he pick all these out ‘specially for me?_

“Similarly, I was unable to find the exact variety of herbal infusion you typically consume, but I hope this blend is a close enough approximation,” Owain called a bit too loudly from the table, where he’d set out the cups and poured the steaming hot beverage.

He handed a cup each to Brady and Inigo, before raising his own in a toast. “To camaraderie, safe travels, and above all, to the kindest, humblest, and most wonderful travel companion to ever exist!” he declared, clinking his cup against Brady’s, who remained stock still as he attempted to process what was going on.

“This… this ain’t…” he started, before taking a sip. He swallowed with a grimace; the ratio of lavender to mint to tea leaves was way off, but the fact that Owain had even remembered the basic ingredients, never mind brewed a pot for Brady without burning down the entire village, was enough to make the priest’s knees quiver.

Brady carefully seated himself back on the edge of the bed, taking another sip as he looked up to face his friends. “Yer the best pals a guy could ask for,” he smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to eirichel (tumblr)/ivaldi (ao3) for the beta-ing and encouragement that finally got me to finish this!!

**Author's Note:**

> I'm doing this in chapters so I can get stuff out quickly, and also to encourage myself to keep working on this. So please leave a comment about what you thought so I can adjust course accordingly!
> 
> re: the open relationship tag; this has been a headcanon I've been entertaining for a while, in part to reconcile Inigo's flirtatious behavior with my love for jeroazu. It's still very much up in the air, but there is a chance he'll end up flirting with people later on in the fic, among other things, but please know that I'm still deeply devoted to dancing man/grouchy wyvern man ok


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